Ex Machina
by John the Strider
Summary: His death was spectacularly common. then again, it's not his death that's interesting. It's what comes after. OC.
1. Chapter 1

His name was Jonathan Myers and his death was spectacularly common in its elements.

A rainy day. A speeding car. A Less than attentive driver. The blare of horns.

For a moment, time seems to freeze as the Englishman sees his impending doom in the shape of a semi-trailer charging towards him from the side. He could see the horrified shock on the face of the other driver, the man's mouth open and moving, screaming something.

Jonathan feels his hands tighten around the wheel, his feet stomp down on the accelerator.

Not that it does anything.

The screech of tyres is followed by the crunch of steel. He feels himself flung to the side, only jerked back by the restraint of his seatbelt. Something smacks against the side of head. Darkness.

He wakes again, his vision blurry, his body cold, and every breath feeling like knives in his chest.

Thankfully, it doesn't last long.

The last sounds that he hears as the darkness creeps in from the edges of his vision were the muted whine of sirens in the distance and the absurdly loud pitter patter of rain that seemed to echo in his ears.

Truly nothing surprising. Just another statistic.

Then again, it's not his death that's interesting.

It's what comes after.


	2. Chapter 01: Discovery

He wakes up.

That alone surprises the hell out of him, because he was sure that he died. He can still remember the … his breath hitches at the memory, of cold numbness and fiery agony. Of sluggish thoughts and a body too weak to even lift its arm.

It seemed like a miracle.

As a senior biomechanical engineer, he really shouldn't be surprised at the resilience of the human body or the almost miraculous advances in medical and surgical technique. All products of human ingenuity. It was particularly remarkable how much anaesthetics in particular seemed to have advances. He never paid particular attention to the field himself, but he remembers being twelve and waking up from the removal of his appendix in blinding pain.

This time, he feels not even mild discomfort. Instead, there is the tickling sensation of what feels like grass under his back and a breeze gently ruffling his hair as he lied there. In the distance he could hear the sounds of…_birds chirping?_

With a little effort, he forces open eyes that seemed to have gummed shut. Idly, he wonders how long he had been unconscious before the sheer incongruity of what he sees throws his thoughts into disarray.

Above him, beyond the rustling tree branches that shades him from the sun is a sky that is startling in its blueness.

For a moment, he just stares up at that blue expanse, his mind stunned into blankness. It takes a few seconds before the appropriate word - or rather the first – pops into his mind.

"What?"

He climbs shakily to his feet and looks around, seeing nothing but trees with leaves that seemed almost ridiculously green as far as he could see.

Although not a particularly religious man – he always felt the idea of religion more than a little ridiculous – he could not help the thoughts of afterlife that seemed to drift to front of his mind as the memory of what felt like his death surfaces on again.

Following that particular vein of though, he looks takes a few steps towards the nearest tree and feels the rough bark under his hands. He looks around at the peaceful clearing once more and for some strange reasons remembers the old joke about hell and the differences before and after an election.

He chokes on a laugh, both at the joke and absurdity of having such a thought at this moment. It obviously wasn't hell. Probably not heaven either, not if any of the gods had any idea what his opinion of them was, which purgatory, which seemed to have an on again and off again relationship with the Catholic Church. Probably wasn't that either.

So where the flipping hell was he?

Looking around the forest once more, he walks back to the patch of grass in the middle of the small clearing he had been laying on when he woke up and presses his hand against the springing grass, not entirely sure what he was feeling for. Not finding anything, he stands there, considering his options.

He could wait here, for whatever that may or may not come, or he could explore. He supposes he should be more concerned, what with waking up in a strange forest, there might have been wolves, bears, crazy axe murderers, or something. However, the memory of death, of relief as the darkness consumed his vision made it all seem so inconsequential.

He looks at the sun, a little lower than it had been when he first opened his eyes, finds a roughly northerly direction, and begins walking.

* * *

When first edges of the sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, he finally staggers out of the forest and stumbles onto the dirt track that bears some resemblance to a road, he is sure of two things:

Hikers were lunatics of the highest order

He might be thin, but he was a great deal more unfit that he had imagined

He ignore the growling of his stomach – he wasn't hungry enough to start eating random things from an unknown forest – he studies the track and looks in both directions. To the left, it travelled in a straight path, stretching out into the distance where it meets the crimson sky at the horizon. To the left, the path curves away from sight, yet he could see the faint black of smoke – or something resembling smoke above the canopy of trees.

Civilisation, or at least a campfire of some sort.

Hopefully.

With a sigh, he walk along the winding road.

Or at least stagger.

Fortunately, the relative ease of the path to travel allowed him to set his feet on autopilot – something he could not do back in the forest, not unless he wanted a mouthful of dirt – which afforded him a chance to examine his current position, now that he had seen a little more of it.

Firstly, he wasn't dead, or at least not in some sort of afterlife. Unless whatever god out there had a particularly nasty sense of humour, his stomach – currently trying to digest itself – and his feet – which felt like they were going to fall off – were indicative enough of that. Reincarnation was also ruled out, for obvious reasons.

So he was alive. Just stranded in some strange place that – _what the?_

His feet trips over themselves and he stumbles forward a few step, arm flailing but managing not to plant his face onto the road, his gaze staring up at the moon that was just becoming visible as the daylight faded.

_Since when was the moon that small?_

Astronomer he might not be, but even Jonathan had a rough idea of how big the moon should be the more important features on it. Or at least that it had craters. Which this one didn't.

_So where the flipping hell am I? _

His stomach growls, as if reminding him to keep walking, not unless he wanted to try his luck with the bright red – and probably highly poisonous – berries he had seen growing back in the forest.

He starts moving again, this time his mind whirring at the sheer number of – admittedly outlandish possibilities – that were suddenly on the table.

_Another planet? Another dimension? Maybe. But who? Why? _

"Halt! State your business!"

It takes him a few seconds to process the order spoken in something resembling Japanese from the man who suddenly appears before him. Jonathan might not be Japanese, but he had spent nearly two years working in one of Japan's top biomedical companies. Even the most linguistically challenged would be able to pick up something of the language after a few years.

Instead of responding, Jonathan just stops and stares at the man. There was something strangely familiar about the man's appearance that he couldn't quite place his finger on…

Jonathan's eyes settle on the plate of metal strapped to the man's forehead and his jaw drops open.

"You must be fucking kidding me!"


End file.
